


Working Hard? Or Hardly Working?

by Everyday_Im_Preaching



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Consensual, Consensual Sex, Dominance, Humiliation kink, M/M, Muffling, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Slut Shaming, Spanking, Workplace Sex, degradation kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 22:18:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16585304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everyday_Im_Preaching/pseuds/Everyday_Im_Preaching
Summary: Foreman corners Chase in an empty, unused office on the third floor, with one thing in mind-- and it's not to discuss a patient's diagnosis.





	Working Hard? Or Hardly Working?

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya there! Welcome to this fic-- if you like this fic and would like to see more, please leave a comment below!
> 
> Special thanks to SageMasterofSass for supporting me through writing this. And special thanks to you for reading!

 

“Foreman— “ Chase began, tone laden with venom and accent thick with his rage. Thick-fingered hands twisted in his collar and shoved him backwards until he slammed into the desk against the wall.  It rattled with the force Foreman put behind it and the sharp, flat edge dug into Chase's back. 

“Get your hands off of me,” Chase snapped. He grabbed at Foreman's hands as if he could actually push him off. “I said get your hands off—“ He was cut off by a mouth slamming against his. He scrambled for a moment, trying to wrestle him off. Foreman didn't let up, tongue shoving past Chase’s lips and keeping him both busy and quiet. Chase relaxed after a moment, opening his mouth wider and leaning heavily against the desk. 

Foreman pulled away, panting slightly. Chase stared at him, searching his eyes for something-- _ anything,  _ to explain what had just happened. And Foreman stared back. His hands were still twisted in the collar of Chase’s coat, clutching the white, starched fabric just tight enough to stress the seams. 

“Foreman,” Chase muttered after a moment. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“What? I thought you  _ liked  _ fucking at work,” Foreman sneered. “Judging by how often you and Cameron let House catch you. I wonder what kind of whore he’ll think you are if he finds  _ me  _ fucking you this time.” Chase was shoved back once again, and a thick leg shoved between his and parted them.

Chase squeezed Foreman’s hands and then tried to tug them away. Foreman’s eyes locked once more with his. “You telling me you don’t want this?” Chase’s tongue was heavy as he tried to say that no, of course he didn’t want this. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t get the words out. Instead, he shoved one of Foreman’s hands away and jerked forward, slamming his mouth back against his— Foreman easily took control of the kiss, letting go of Chase’s collar—his hands roughly tugged at Chase’s jacket, as if trying to tear it off of him.

“I’m not a whore, just because I like sex,” Chase grunted. He certainly  _ felt  _ like a whore, though he wouldn’t tell Foreman that. His whole body shuddered as a hand shoved between his thighs and groped at his cock through his slacks. He gritted his teeth and turned his face from Foreman. 

“You know, you’re right, you’re  _ not  _ a whore. You don’t get paid.” Chase had gotten tired of Foreman’s useless attempts at taking off his jacket, and he shoved away from the desk so he could pull it off himself. As soon as it was tossed away, Foreman was pressing back against him, mouth hot on his throat. “You’re just a needy little slut.” The words were whispered into Chase’s ear. 

Chase let out a strained huff, masking the small, whined groan underneath. 

“You clean?” Chase asked instead, bracing both hands against the desk. His legs were knocked farther apart and Foreman pressed between them. “Jesus Christ you take up a lot of space. Might be time to go on a diet.” He gibed, tongue darting out to lick at dry lips. 

Foreman snorted. “Yeah, I’m clean,” His hands grabbed at Chase’s hips, nails biting through the fabric and into the skin below. He paused. “You really up for this?”

“You came on a little strong, but I like it,” Chase croaked in return. Foreman snorted and then nipped at his jugular. Chase let out a wheezed, near-alarmed noise in return. Foreman was yanking at his belt, undoing it with a grace and ease that made Chase think that this wasn’t the first time Foreman had cornered someone in an unused office. Once it was undone, his button and zipper were next. 

“You better hope that House doesn’t catch us,” Foreman warned. “Which means, if he doesn’t already know, he’s going to know when he hears you squealing. So keep your mouth shut,” He yanked Chase’s slacks down by the hem, just enough to pull his cock out. Chase was half-hard already, and he snickered. “Slut.”

Chase swallowed. He pinned his bottom lip between his teeth. Foreman took Chase’s cock in his hand and gave it a rough pump; Chase bit down on his lip a bit harder, trying not to let a moan escape through his clenched teeth. He didn’t know how Foreman  _ knew  _ that he was loud, but he also didn’t want to know. Some questions were better left unanswered. 

Greedy hands slipped around to dive under Chase’s boxers and squeeze his ass— he inhaled sharply through his nose and pressed a hand to Foreman’s shoulder; he levelled him with a glare, and received a grin in return. Foreman leaned forward again, sloppily capturing Chase’s mouth and shoving his tongue back into it. Chase grunted as Foreman’s nails raked over his ass and his back, dragging thick red lines in their wake where they touched skin. He was pressed harder against the desk, and his lower back ached with it. 

“Stop fucking playing with it, and do—” 

A hand came down hard on his ass, and it sparked with pain. Chase’s voice cut off into a breathless whimper. 

“Shut up,” Foreman muttered into his ear, before grabbing his ass again. “I told you that you would have to be quiet. Else I’m going to have to make you be quiet.” He gave another smack, and his smile grew when Chase gave a sharp inhale. “Turn around.” 

Chase did as he was told, trying not to shake. Foreman’s hands slipped down over his still-clothed thighs and gave a sharp squeeze, and then a pinch on the outside of the cloth. Foreman urged Chase to bend over the desk with a rough shove. He hit the wood, winded from the impact. 

“You like it rough, huh?”  _ Smack.  _ It rang out in the room, and Chase dug his fingers into the wood top of the desk. He breathed in through his teeth. He couldn’t tell if the cloth between him and the hand was making it better or worse. “Bet you’ll be at home tonight, laying in bed— won’t be able to get me out of your fucking head. You’re going to fist your cock this evening, thinking of me.” 

Chase shook his head in denial. Fingers wound into Chase’s hair, yanking his head up. “You really feel like lying to me right now?” He asked, slipping his fingers into the hem of Chase’s boxers and snapping them. “Because I can leave you high and dry in here, Chase.” 

“Yes, I’m going to jerk off while thinking about this later,” He got out through gritted teeth, making sure he was loud enough so Foreman wouldn’t inquire a second time. Foreman snorted and bit at the back of Chase’s neck, right below the soft baby hairs. Chase grunted and jerked at the sharp feeling, digging his stomach deeper into the desk, but only briefly. “I’m going to be thinking about you treating me like shit later, and I’m going to fucking cum. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself.” 

Chase felt his underwear pulled down seconds later, and he shuddered as cold air brushed over his reddened ass. Foreman was squeezing and grabbing at it again, nails dragging over Chase’s bare skin now and getting him to shiver. And then Foreman stepped back for a moment. Chase waited patiently, and then heard two snaps, about thirty seconds apart. 

Cold, slick lube was smeared around his entrance and he had to grit his teeth again. 

“You could’ve warmed it up,” He hissed.

“Nah. Sluts like you don’t really care, do you? As long as you get fucked, you don’t care if the lubes cold, warm, or even existant. I just don’t want to have you limping through the halls today. House’ll ask who’s dick you’ve had up your ass, and I’ll be compelled to answer honestly.”

“You wouldn’t dare—” His voice ended in a sharp, whined gasp as a finger he was unprepared for pressed in. Chase bit at his lip and pressed is face into the desk. He took quick, sharp inhales through his nose as he was roughly prepared. He almost wanted to snicker— Foreman was so excited that he’d forgotten gloves. 

Foreman was biting at the side of his neck now, bruising the skin as he went. He bit down  _ especially  _ hard when Chase rolled his hips back and a moan creaked out of his mouth. Another slick, wet finger pressed into him, fighting for space with the other. Chase hiccuped and another moan escaped him, barely a whisper.

“What a good little bitch,” Foreman whispered. “I’ll have to take you somewhere less public and let you scream, later.” He then sat up. The room went quiet, the only noise being the wet shlicking of Foreman’s fingers as they roughly bullied for space and stretched Chase. He brought a hand over his mouth as the fingers brushed his prostate, trying not to make too much noise— even though he didn’t think Foreman would confess to fucking him, he did think it was likely someone would walk in on them. 

And most likely, that someone would be House. 

The fingers inside him were  _ ruthless.  _ Once they found his prostate they battered it, pressing against it hard and getting him to wiggle against the desk; his shirt rode up on his torso and his stomach chafed against the old wood. And then there was Foreman’s  _ mouth,  _ which was now biting into his shoulders and leaving hickies there as well. He was going to look like someone had tried to stone him to death by the end of this. 

It was a relief when Foreman pulled his fingers free; he wiped them on Chase’s ass, which was less of a relief, and then his belt jingled as he went to take it off. Chase pressed his cheek against the desk, finding it slightly cool beneath him. Foreman’s hands, both slightly sticky from lube, kneaded at his lower back. 

“You’re so fucking hot, bent over this desk like this. Such a fucking needy slut,” He grabbed at Chase’s hips and yanked them back. He then let go, but only to rip open a condom package and slick up his cock. Chase hadn’t even  _ seen  _ it yet. Not hard, anyway. He took a deep breath and curled his toes in his shoes. 

Foreman smoothed a hand over his ass, pulling the cheeks apart to reveal his entrance. “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you. If I break my cock sleeve I’m not going to have one,” He let his fingers press against Chase’s hole and then pull away. “Better hold on tight though.” 

Chase’s fingers dug into the edge of the desk, and he could only imagine what he looked like right now. Sweaty, hair a mess, clinging to a desk in an old office— ready to be fucked by a co-worker that had little to no interest in him. It was like in some sort of piece of shitty, smutty fiction. 

The head of Foreman’s cock pressed against his entrance and he had to work hard to choke back the noise he wanted to make. And then a long, drawn out moan was pulled from him as Foreman shoved forward, sliding in to the hilt without stopping. A hand smacked across his mouth and a rough piston of Foreman’s hips had him rubbing against the desk again. His cock was hard and leaking between his thighs, and he knew that he was dripping pre-cum all over the front of the desk. 

“How many times am I going to have to tell you to shut up?” Foreman hissed, voice partially strained. Chase’s chest was heaving when he caught Foreman’s eye. He knew he looked needy. He didn’t care. Foreman must’ve saw it, because he laughed, but softly. “Alright, I’m not mad at you. Cock sluts can’t help themselves. But you better try your best.”

His hips droved forward seconds later, spearing Chase on his cock. Chase’s eyelids fluttered shut as the hand over his mouth moved to his hair and gave it a sharp tug— it forced him to arch off the desk and push back into the driving thrusts. Foreman gave him no time to adjust. 

“Are you whimpering?” Foreman asked gruffly. “My little fuck toy is whimpering? Trying to hold back?” Each shove forward still burned, and it was adding kindling to the fire in Chase’s gut. “How do you keep yourself so tight?”

“You’ve...you’ve seen how picky I am about my shoes,” He puffed out, the words partially slurred from where he was pinned against the desk as his head was shoved back down. “And they only go on my feet.” 

Foreman scoffed at him and shook his head. “Really?”

“Just cause I like to be fucked doesn’t mean I don’t have preferences,” Chase grunted out. “Fuck, Eric,” He swallowed his next words and panted loudly, trying not to finish before Foreman did. The friction, the burn, the more-than-occasional pounding to his prostate— it was a lot, all at once, especially since he hadn’t had a cock in him for a month. 

“You can come any time,” Foreman informed him. “Just know I’m going to keep fucking you through it.” Chase let out a soft keen at the words, acknowledging it like a promise. Foreman leaned over him and pressed a kiss to his ear. “Remember.  _ Quiet. _ ” 

 

“Where the fuck were you two?” House asked as they stumbled in. He gave them a shrewd look, and Chase hoped that he couldn’t catch on. They’d both went to great lengths to look  _ immaculate,  _ like nothing had happened. 

“Coffee,” Foreman said, lifting his coffee cup. Chase nodded in agreement, also lifting his cup in solidarity. “Have a patient?”

House nodded and hobbled over to the table. “The only person who gets to be late around here is me. Sit down,” He took a seat in one of the nearby chairs and leaned heavily on his cane. “So, not fucking Cameron anymore, Chase?” House asked as Chase and Foreman picked up their case files.

“House,” Cameron hissed immediately. “We’re not a thing anymore. Stop it.” 

“Oh, well, you might not be, but these two certainly have a new thing. Or new things,” He leaned back in his chair. “So, patient. Early twenties, type two diabetes— came in with flu-like symptoms and came in with chest pain— turned out she was having a heart attack.” 

Foreman cocked his head to the side. “Could be weight. Eighty-percent of diabetics are obese.”  
“Nope,” Cameron pulled up her own file. “Five-eight, a hundred and sixty pounds. Average. Has never even been overweight— good diet, blood sugar is within a normal range. If her A1C wasn’t so high, I would’ve thought they got her original diagnosis wrong.”

“But they didn’t,” House replied. “Because most doctors know what they’re doing, when they diagnose a patient with a disease they’re going to manage for the rest of their lives. And they typically don’t prescribe people a thousand milligrams of metformin if they think that it’s a mistake.”

He rose from his chair. “I’m going to go see the patient. Foreman, Chase, go check out her house. Find something that might cause...a heart attack. In a diabetic twenty-two year old. Cameron, well, go spend an hour or so getting coffee. Since Foreman and Chase decided it was time for a break, I guess you deserve one too.”

“I don’t want to—” 

“Oh, there’s the can-do spirit. Come with me. We’re going to do some blood tests. And maybe some other tests. I don’t know. We’ll see what happens.”

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh, it sure is exhausting, trying to exist, huh? Boy. I could use a ten year nap.
> 
> Song(s) for this chapter:  
> Get Free by Whissell
> 
> Want to stay updated? Want to chat or shoot me a prompt? Have an idea that you'd like me to consider for this pairing? Feel free to click [here](http://everyday-im-preaching.tumblr.com/) to do all these things and more!


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